Galvanise
by irisis
Summary: Written as part of the VAMB secret drabble exchange for vanhunks, who provided the wonderful first line. Warning: major character death.


Written as part of the VAMB secret drabble exchange for vanhunks, who provided the wonderful first line.

* * *

"Home," she whispered, "is only a memory away..."

Two days ago; over dinner. They had approached the line again, the one they had years earlier resolved not to cross, and she was alluding to Mark.

"He could still be waiting," her voice was still at a whisper and lacking the usual firmness, "I owe him the same courtesy."

Something about her choice of words caused him to do something new. He pushed the issue, albeit gently.

"Courtesy. Not love?"

It had been the wrong thing to say. He had known that plain enough as he shaped the words, but let them loose regardless, and she left him.

Twelve hours ago, she said:

"It's all right. You can say it," and this time her voice was forceful, almost challenging, "On top of all that, I got a Dear John letter."

Now he had the right words, and he backed them with action. He kissed her. Not right at that moment, but later that evening. It would have been inappropriate to press his mouth against hers in her Ready Room, still in uniform, their crew at work on the other side of the bulkhead. In another time and place he didn't consider those factors and brought his face as close as possible to hers and that Chakotay was punished cruelly for his mistake, his friendship with Kathryn much diminished ever-after.

But not him. He wielded compassion and respect the better to temper his impatience. When he kissed her she didn't resist and later still, after they had moved to her starlit bedroom and she had finally shed her Starfleet uniform symbolically as well as physically for an all too brief time, she reached up her hand and pawed at his shoulder in a way she had done once before; although that had been in desperation rather than the ecstasy of now, the line between the two was at that moment so slim he couldn't help but be reminded of it.

"_You have to make this work. I want you to make this work. Get this crew home. Get this crew home..."_ she had implored that one time, dying and broken on the biobed as Borg ravaged her ship from the inside out. She was subsequently clutched from the jaws of the afterlife but there was to be no rescue this time.

For five hours ago they were forcefully pulled into the immediate gravitational well of a star. They would never know for sure how it had happened because in the immediate aftermath they were too preoccupied by the sudden, catastrophic loss of power and the incoming solar flare to pay the thought much heed. Less than a minute after that, _Voyager_ would be obliterated.

Her shields were the first to go, followed in merciless quick succession by the loss of every single one of her primary and secondary systems, including her life support. Her crew were left as weak and defenceless as babes, wailing in the dark and utterly exposed to the next flare. They were powerless to do anything other than watch the tendrils of their exhalations vaporise in the rapidly cooling air as they attempted in futility to coax life back into their dead consoles and systems.

Chance and nothing more had conspired to create their situation. In another time-line, in every other one but theirs in fact, separated from this by nothing other than the thin membrane of reality, they soared past this solar system without a second thought and no one noticed the unusual energy signature emanating from within until fourteen years later when a young Starfleet scientist part of the long-term task force examining _Voyager's_ raw data logs stumbled upon it. But here B'Elanna took a fraction of a second longer with her breakfast that morning, _Voyager's_ engines were ready following her routine diagnostic one point seven seconds too late, and consequently fifteen seconds after that the second flare sheared through the hull and struck _Voyager's_ heart.

This is what happened next. The deck buckled and twisted, as if stretched too thin, and began to lose form beneath his feet. On every one of _Voyager's _decks the same thing was happening.

He turned to her and found her gone, the chair empty. He located her a moment later face down on the deck near the viewscreen, her neck contorted at an unnatural angle.

Duty came first. There were words which needed to be said.

"All hands; abandon ship."

Instantly the chaos flowed into disorder and then, an organised evacuation. The Bridge crew, those left breathing, began to leave. Thick, arid smoke began to bellow from what was now a hull breach beneath his feet, space held away by only a millimetre thick forcefield several decks below.

In another time, the emergency generator powering the forcefield failed and he died a slow and agonising death in the vacuum of space. But those memories belonged to another, and these were his.

He tried and failed to reach her; there was too much debris. Fire licked across the hull plating and carpet towards her and would soon claim her. He turned, helplessly, and found himself face to face with Tuvok, who offered to help retrieve her. Despite the bedlam of his outward environment, and indeed that within his own mind, Chakotay was touched by this offer which went against all logical constraints. Yet ultimately he declined with a slow shake of his head. There was something fitting – yet undoubtedly heart rendering – about her being cremated here on _Voyager_, and that both Captain and vessel would take their final, fervid journey together.

The deck lurched once more beneath his feet as the ship began to be reeled in, in to the very core of the star. The ice of space had by now been scorched away by the heat and flames beneath and all around them. With the first stab of grief came the overwhelming, desperate urge to jump onto her pyre, but two things stopped him.

The first was Tuvok's iron grip on his arm, and his steering him towards and in to an escape pod.

The second were her own her words, and the promise she had sought.

_I want you to make this work. Get this crew home._

His last sight of her was a corner of red – the shoulder of her uniform – and the fire brightening in intensity as it took hold of her.

More than a million timeliness and faculties away, the shoulder twitched and she called his name. But in this world she had long ago crossed over into whatever lay beyond death.

This was now their temporary home. An M class planet orbiting the same sun which had caused the destruction of their ship claimed half their number. As it set behind alien mountains and its last rays of warmth left the unfamiliar blue vegetation beneath their feet, the survivors gathered around him and they held their impromptu memorial service.

He felt the responsibility for each and every one of them fall heavily upon his shoulders. For a moment the strain seemed impossible to bear, and at last he truly understood why she had held him at arm's length for so long. This community were going to need all of his strength, every fibre of his energy, every ounce of soul. It was suffocating. There would be nothing left of him to give once this mantle was fully in place.

Their dirty, scorched, desolate faces assailed him from every direction. How would he ever accomplish this without her?

His voice faltered on the first word, but grew in intensity and strength as he pushed himself on.

"Home," he said, "is only a memory away."

As was she.


End file.
